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I spent a day in Nashville this weekend and I am feeling seriously outspangled. Seems like everyone in Nashville is either wildly talented and/or has great hair. Some of them yodel. Many of them wear rhinestones. It is glorious.

Saturday night we to the Grand Ole Opry (check mark on the bucket list) and saw a series of wonderful performers, including a grown man playing a guitar bedazzled with sparkling alligators. Soon as I get back to Chicago I am singing up for lessons. I need that guitar.

Look, I know a lot of people who take the ABC approach to music (Anything But Country) and that’s fine. To each his own. But I happen like country music quite a lot. And I like country music performers even more. Perhaps it is their friendly attitudes and approachable smiles. Perhaps it is the sincerity that comes with writing many of their own songs. Perhaps it is the hair. Perhaps it is the rhinestones.

Oh, who am I kidding?

To any of you ABC music people out there who resist the siren call of the steel guitar, I dare you to watch one of my favorite films, Rhinestone (1984). Starring Sylvester Stallone and Dolly Parton, this cinematic tour-de-force is sure to stir the soul and imprint an appreciation for country music. I’m serious. Listen closely and one can hear the crunch of Stallone’s New York machismo under the sparkling heft of Bob Mackie western wear. It is nothing short of magnificent.

Here, lets take a look.

Be sure to stick around to 1:50 when Dolly jumps in for a duet that rivals Islands in the Stream any day.

Don’t ask me why. I have never been there. I have no relation. I strongly dislike the climate. That Bjork chic is a little disturbing. And their economy is in the crapper.

…but so what?

It’s Iceland. It’s magic.

I feel drawn to this place like I have lived there a hundred years. Like I know every frozen nook and glacial mass east of Reykjavik.

I do not believe in reincarnation, but if I did, I’m confident you would have found me toothless and cleaning fish, or milking goats, or something equally unglamorous, in Iceland.

Sometimes, when I am at my worst, when it’s the middle of the night at the bottom of winter and I am scraping the dregs of Depression, one of the only things that calms me down is putting on headphones and listening to a series of Icelandic lullabies.

Loud.

Does that sound weird? Yeah, I guess it does. But it works for me. It gets me through the night. Some people get through these sorts of nights by reading, some write, some drink…and some people, like me, resort to music. Weird and foreign music, devoid of rhythm and harmony. Noise. Cold white noise. I do not speak Icelandic, so I can’t understand a word of it, but it helps me cope. And for that I am eternally grateful.

Round about a year ago, I heard a preview of a song that sounded just like one of those Icelandic lullabies, but for once, the words were in English and I could understand. It was “Holocene” by the indie American band Bon Iver. And it was glorious.

But as much as I loved it from the first moment, I thought for sure it would remain some obscure song that nobody but me would like. As though I was special as a snowflake and it was written for me and only me.

Well. Apparently those Bon Iver guys had different plans. They decided to let other people listen to my special song. Then they went it sold it all over the world. Then they went and got themselves a Grammy nomination.

Seriously, where do they get the nerve?

Fine then. I’ll be the bigger party here and make peace with everyone sharing my special song, even though it won’t feel so special anymore. If you haven’t heard my special song, here is the video.

PS: Guess where it was filmed?

Yup. That’s Iceland.

Congrats to Bon Iver and best of luck with my special song at the Grammys this Sunday 🙂

There is a radio station in Chicago that starts playing Christmas music 24/7 in early November, and for nearly two months, every time a song comes on, I shake my fists a tiny bit and squeal to myself, This one is my favorite!

No, really.

Years ago, when burning your own mix CDs became a fad, some friends and I all swapped CDs made of our favorite holiday music. Between the five of us and ten songs each, it was a quick way to amass a decent collection. And although my collection was already sizable, hearing other people’s “Top Ten Holiday Hits” was an interesting insight to each person’s approach to Christmas spirit.

You know, one’s musical taste and one’s taste in Christmas Music are two separate things. You would never guess that a big burly guy would enjoy Rosemary Clooney’s Suzie Snowflake, or that the classical music snob would appreciate Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer, but there you go. We all learned a little about each other, and after much discussion, we all agreed that the world is divided into two different kinds of people: people who enjoy Celion Dion, and Everyone Else.

But I digress.

I still like to swap Cds and wish it was more popular. I’m still going to make a few though, and this year, best of all, they will look like fruitcake! Ready for the tutorial? Here goes:

Now, I’m not going to get into the details on how to place an image in your computer, because every combination of template/computer will be slightly different, but trust me, it’s easy. If you are super uncomfortable with this stuff, but you have access to someone between the ages of 8 and 18, get them to do it for you. Bribe them with chocolate if you have to. It’s worth it. Everyone will be so delighted and impressed when you hand them this CD of your favorite holiday tunes!

HELP ME. I DON’T WANT TO GET SUED. AT LEAST NOT OVER FRUITCAKE.

It is my understanding that certain federal regulatory entities do not appreciate people like me promoting the concept of folks swapping free music. Understandable. Scroogish, but understandable. So, to offset any free music that might be exchanged, lets’ promote some music for purchase, shall we?

I’m asking you to leave a comment indicating your top three holiday songs in the following categories; Classic, Sentimental, and Buried Treasure (something that you never hear on the radio). Include artist preference if you have one.

Hopefully, if a few of us share our favorite songs, some of us will be prompted to check them out and perhaps download them on ITunes (or similar). Cool?

Here, I’ll start:

Classic: “We Three Kings of Orient Are” by Ella FitzgeraldSentimental: “Dominick the Donkey” Buried Treasure: “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” by Rolf and John Denver (yes, I am evangelizing the Muppets yet again. The whole album is amazing. ‘Nuff said)

Spent some time down south with family and friends and food and babies and food and wedding hoopla of all varieties and eating food so good it would make your brains fall out. And oh, did I mention the food?

Makers of the Internet: you make it so easy to share pictures but why won’t you allow me to share stuff like smells and taste? Scratch and sniff screens or something? Taste-o-vision? You need to work on that, k?

Maid of honor duties prevented me from taking many wedding photos but somehow I found time to capture about 900 photographs of my niece. That’s not sarcasm. Abigail is ten-months of crazy cuteness and is freakishly photogenic. And since I don’t see her nearly as often as I would like, well, the camera never left my side. If ya’ll lived in the neighborhood I would invite you over for gimlets and a 2 hour slide show of nothing but Abigail photos. You never had it so good!

This vacation wasn’t about sightseeing or tourist attractions. Just grocery stores and playgrounds and an occasional craft project. Lots of old, friendly, familiar things. Somehow seeing them through the eye of the camera makes me appreciate them a little bit more.

Ahem; the highlight reel: (from left to right, top to bottom)

Went up to the mountains in search of acorns and came down with buckets of ash berries.

I repeatedly have to remind myself: you are not writing a food blog…you are not writing a food blog…there are thousands of fabulous food blogs already…no one wants to hear about your ugly chicken marinated in diet coke…blog about something else…you are not writing a food blog…

But Y’all, sometimes I can’t help it. The force is too strong. I can’t contain it. This cake busted out of the oven like some kind of Liza Minelli, all sparkly and crazy eyed, making jazz hands, dancing as fast as she can and singing Cabaret songs as LOUD AS SHE CAN in hopes you will forget who her mother was and that creepy phase when she married a gay guy who had way too much plastic surgery but it’s ok because he made her feel special.

This cake deserves to feel special, too. This cake deserves your love. You can’t turn down the volume on this one: this is The Liza Minelli of Cake.

Note: There is zucchini in here, so really, this is basically health food.

*If you are not a chocolate person: this is probably going to gross you out. *If you are a chocolate person: get ready to blow your mind! This cake is so easy to make, and so decadent that it’s hard for me to eat more than a sliver. Look, I realize you probably don’t know the severity of my chocolate addiction, but let me tell you something; for me to say suggest “a sliver” is pretty effin profound. This is serious business.

Bring cream to a slight boil and then pour over chocolate chips. Whisk until chocolate melts. Add peanut butter and salt and whisk until smooth. Let it cool until thick.

Remove cake from 13×9” pan, turn on to flat surface and cut in half to make 2 cakes.

Slather ganache on one half, stack the layers, then smooth a thin layer of ganache all over as a crumb coat. Let it set 15 minutes.

Go back and spread the rest of the ganache. Allow it to set for another 15 minutes then gently press remaining chopped peanut butter cup pieces all over top and sides of cake. Place in refrigerator for about an hour to set.

I should probably be outside eating hot dogs and setting off fireworks, but for a number of reasons, including a scary policeman at my door, I’m inside chillin with Liberace.

I’m one of those people who gets the holiday spirit in July. Just when it is hot as a hair shirt outside, I’m inside, getting my jingle bells on. Never lasts long, just enough to trigger a craving for cold weather and the smell of gingerbread. Since neither one of those things is available to me at this time, I’ll settle for my favorite holiday album, Liberace Christmas.

Confession: that Christmas stuff is misleading. Truth is, no matter what time of year, I can’t get enough Liberace. So what if I’m not his type. So what if he’s dead. I adore him.

Just look at this man! Do you see an insecure gay polish kid from Milwaukee? Didn’t think so. Why his music doesn’t play from every store and restaurant in the Western Hemisphere, 24/7, is baffling. The man was a genius. A massive, witty, giggling, fruit-filled, rhinestone-studded genius. And it’s not just that the dude could play the piano wearing cocktail rings the size of tangerines (not even kidding), the core of his talent came from his unapologetic happiness. He didn’t just sing or speak or preach the word; he lived it. He flaunted it. He dismissed (or sued the crap out of) anyone who judged him for it. He was an entertainer in an era when people were heavily discouraged from being themselves. He was ahead of his time.

Yes, he lavished himself with material riches. Yes, he makes Donald Trump look tasteful. Yes, his music was overshadowed by the circus of his lifestyle. No, he never apologized for any of it.